Gisburne dismounted and Margaret was instantly at his side.
“Stay here,” said Gisburne. Margaret’s fingers curled tightly around his arm.
“There are four of them. They’ll kill you.”
“Stay here,” he repeated, more firmly. He reached for his sword, but his hand grasped at air.
“You don’t have a sword!” gasped Margaret in horror. She rushed to the saddlebag, hoping desperately that she might find something Guy could use as a weapon. Three of the riders had descended from their horses.
She started fumbling with the catch before either one of them noticed it.
“Margaret!” She caught sight of the hilt and pulled the sword free. It had been strapped to the saddle. The two exchanged looks.
“Tuck?”
“But why?” questioned Gisburne.
“Guy!” Margaret tossed the sword to him and he managed to fend off one man’s blow.
“Get under the horse!” yelled Gisburne, blocking another blow.
“What?” The first man took another swipe. The knight leapt to one side and locked swords with the third.
“Roll under the horse!” he shouted. As the second man was moving towards her, Margaret found she had little choice. She crouched beneath the horse’s belly, then rolled clear to the other side. The man decided to follow. However, he was taller than Margaret and wider in the middle. His foot accidentally hit the horse’s hind leg. The horse immediately lashed out, the hard hoof meeting the tender flesh above the man’s ankle. He cried out in agony. Margaret watched in fascination when a bearded face emerged, the cheeks more red than the copper bristles on his chin. He managed to drag himself out from under the horse, amidst much howling and cursing. Margaret quickly grabbed his sword from its sheath. It never hurt to be too cautious, she reasoned.
Margaret was still guarding her adversary when she remembered Guy. Suddenly a scream filled her ears. She spun around, almost dropping the sword as she did so. Someone lay crumpled on the ground...
She pressed a hand to her wildly beating heart and released the breath she had been holding. It wasn’t Guy. However, the relief quickly ebbed away. Guy was fighting against another man.
Both seemed to possess equal skill. It would be a close match. Margaret only hoped that Guy hadn’t expended too much energy during the fight with the first man. She still didn’t know if this man had stood aside during the first match out of natural compassion or simple malice. As Guy parried a thrust that was meant for his shins, Margaret made her judgment.
She bit her lip pensively as Guy’s opponent evaded a stroke and almost inflicted a wound of his own. The two circled each other, swords clasped tightly in their palms. Then the swords were clashing repeatedly, exchanging blow after blow. The clatter of metal seemed to drown out all other sounds. However, the din of weapons faded when the swords locked.
Margaret’s grip on her own sword tightened. The blades of both weapons were perilously close to Guy’s throat. His arms shook with the strain.
Suddenly Gisburne managed to twist his body away. The other man lost his balance and fell onto his hands. Margaret smiled as Guy met her gaze. Then he was staring at her, his eyes widening.
“Margaret!” There was a sharp, intense pain in her side. She opened her mouth to scream, but sank to the ground instead. Then he was there. He was holding her dagger. It was stained with her blood. He tossed it at her with a careless gesture, the corners of his mouth creasing in what might have been a smile. He started to shake in a soundless paroxysm of laughter. Then he shuddered and his body pitched forward.
Margaret saw Guy yank his sword away before she felt herself slipping...
“Margaret.” He had knelt beside her, propping her up.
“You killed him,” she whispered.
“Who was he?”
“My tormentor.” She grimaced as if the very sight of him disturbed her. Then Gisburne remembered the wound. He quickly snatched the dead man’s cloak, tugging fiercely. The knight paused for an instant, as he pressed the cloak against the wound. The cloak was velvet with ermine trim. Margaret’s “tormentor” had obviously been a rich and powerful man.
Gisburne took Margaret’s hand and guided it to the wound. He then rose wearily, fully prepared to do battle with the survivors. Fortunately, they had witnessed the way Gisburne had quickly dispatched their leader. They weren’t about to make the same mistake. The bearded man was limping towards his horse. His companion had already leapt atop his mount, flicked the reins and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Margaret cried out and Gisburne knelt beside her again.
“It hurts,” she gasped, laughing despite the pain.
“I have to get you to a physician,” he spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on the wound.
“Oh, no...Couldn’t we just stay here?” she pleaded. In response, Gisburne hooked his arms under her knees and shoulders, lifting her from the ground.
Soon she was seated on her horse, a free hand clutching at the mane. She swayed and would have fallen if Gisburne hadn’t reached the saddle in time to catch her.
“Sorry,” she murmured, her head rolling back against his chest. Gisburne wheeled the horse around. Margaret noticed that they were heading back to Nottingham, but she didn’t put up a fight. It hardly matters now, she thought.
* * * *
The outlaws crouched beside the road. Nasir had signalled that someone was approaching. As the Saracen met them on the ground, Will and Much each took one end of the rope. Then Robin ordered them to drop it.
“It’s Gisburne,” he whispered to Scarlet.
“So?” hissed Will.
“Something’s wrong...”
“Wrong?” Robin got to his feet and walked quickly out of the bushes. His friends scrambled to join him. Gisburne drew in the reins when he saw them. Robin wondered if he would turn the horse back around again and flee the scene at a gallop. When the horse didn’t move, Robin’s concern grew.
The outlaws sensed it too. They approached the horse slowly, cautiously. They knew that something wasn’t right.
“Margaret...” said Marion. The woman on the horse stared down at her distractedly. She was pale and did not look at all well. Gisburne had placed a hand around her waist...
Suddenly Robin noticed the blood on Gisburne’s fingers. He rushed forward. “John!”
Gisburne didn’t resist when they took her from his arms and lowered her gently from the horse. He watched them carry her back to the camp, Marion and Tuck hurrying after them. Gisburne swung down from his horse and came face to face with Scarlet.
“Did you do this?” rasped the outlaw.
“Would I bring her back here if I had?” His voice was steady, though his eyes were blazing.
“Who did?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” shouted Will. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
“He’s dead.” Will studied him intently, but the knight didn’t avert his gaze.
“Good.” He lowered his eyes and Gisburne moved past him swiftly, heading towards the camp. Nasir looked at Scarlet questioningly. Will nodded and the Saracen began to trail the knight.
“Is she going to die, Will?” asked Much. His friend jumped. He had almost forgotten that the young man was there.
“Get the horse, Much,” he answered curtly.
She’s so pale, thought Marion, adjusting the blanket around the shivering woman once more. Marion had dealt with the wound as best as she could. She had made a poultice from plantain leaves to stop the bleeding. Then she had dressed the wound again with a fresh bandage. Margaret moaned softly and Marion grasped her hand. It was ice cold.
“Guy...” whispered Margaret, trying to lift her head.
“Gisburne,” called Marion. The knight glanced at her in surprise and strode quickly across the camp. Then he was hovering above them, uncertain, almost hesitant.
“She needs you,” said Marion firmly.
“How can I help her?” Margaret’s eyes flew open at the sound of Guy’s voice.
“Don’t leave me,” she spoke. For a few moments, Gisburne remained standing.
“Sit,” ordered Marion, who grabbed the dazed knight by the wrist and pulled him down to the ground. “She needs rest.”
“Then shouldn’t I go?”
“No!” cried Margaret, grabbing the same wrist Marion had just released.
“No. She has to know that you’re here. You must talk to her, keep her calm. She'll rest easier if you stay here.”
“But what do I say?”
“Tell her that you won’t leave her and that she mustn’t be afraid.” And tell her all the things you never said, but should have told her long ago, thought Marion.
“Did you find anything?” asked Robin, when John, Will and Nasir returned to the camp.
“Aye,” answered John. “There were four men. Nasir found the tracks of four horses. Gisburne and Margaret stopped and the men surrounded them.”
“Gisburne killed two of them, including the man that wounded Margaret,” added Will.
“There was blood beside his body and her dagger was by his hand,” explained Nasir quietly.
“He wounded Margaret with her own dagger?” exclaimed Robin. The Saracen nodded reluctantly.
“The other two must have taken off after that,” said John. “I reckon they were in a hurry. They didn’t bother with the other horses. We did though.”
“Good. We may need them.” Will was about to question this statement, but glanced furtively across the camp instead.
“How is she?” he inquired, trying to sound indifferent. Robin had trouble meeting his eyes.
“Not good,” he replied.
Gisburne had seen hundreds of wounds. He had inflicted them and received them. He had walked through battlefields strewn with corpses. He had become immune to violence and suffering...And yet, he could barely look at her wound now. It seemed to grow worse every time he saw it.
I’m tired, he reflected. That’s the only reason for it. Then, as if to prove his courage, he lifted his head. Margaret’s wide, blue eyes were staring back at him.
“Guy...”
“You should rest,” he spoke, as Marion knelt down to examine Margaret’s wound.
“I have to speak now. I won’t be able to later.”
“What do you mean?”
“You knew I was dead the moment you saw me. It was in your eyes.” Marion hesitated, her hand poised over the blanket. She glanced quickly at Gisburne. He was studying the ground.
“You’re a terrible liar, Guy,” said Margaret, laughing softly.
* * * *
Will glared the fire. He was outraged that someone would hurt Margaret, yet furious with himself for caring. She had lied to them, betrayed them. She had helped Gisburne escape...She was his sister!
He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes drifted to Margaret and then Gisburne. Does he care? wondered Will. He hadn’t objected when his enemies had decided to treat her would. Why hadn’t he fled? Did he stay by Margaret’s side out of concern or because he could find no way to escape?
Will tore his eyes away. It doesn’t matter. I don’t give a damn, he thought fiercely. He had almost convinced himself that this was true when Much’s signal sounded in the camp. Will was on his feet in an instant and running towards the road.
“If it’s those bastards, I’ll kill ‘em!”
“No,” spoke Robin, who had managed to catch up with Scarlet, “I will.”
Instead of concealing themselves in the bushes or laying a trap, the outlaws burst onto the road. They were too angry to concern themselves with plans and strategies. When the rider drew up to the outlaws, it was to meet swords, quarterstaffs and arrows notched in bows. Then the weapons were lowered, the disappointment on their faces clearly visible.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Robin. The Earl of Huntington gazed down at him sternly.
“It’s good to see you too, Robert,” he replied gruffly.
“Forgive me, Father. I’m happy to see you. Truly, I am.” The Earl studied his son’s companions shrewdly.
“I just wasn’t who you were expecting,” observed the Earl. Robin smiled sheepishly.
“No, but you’re welcome all the same. What brings you to Sherwood.” The Earl looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, then fought to recover.
“I need your help, Robert.”
“My help?”
“Well, not me exactly. I know...someone who could use your help.”
“Of course, Father. I’ll do anything I can.”
“We all will,” added Tuck.
“I’m grateful,” spoke the Earl, inclining his head politely, “but it’s rather...delicate.” He looked at Robin almost beseechingly. “I would prefer to speak to you alone.”
“Well, I...” John patted Robin’s shoulder.
“It’s all right, lad. I’ll keep an eye on our guests.”
“Guests?” asked the Earl in surprise.
“Uh...you’ll find out soon enough, Father.”
When the outlaws returned to the camp they found Marion seated before the fire, rubbing her tired eyes. They moved silently, but Marion looked up when she sensed they were approaching. She forced a smile, albeit a bitter one.
“It’s not good is it, lass?” said John. Marion lowered her eyes and, after a moment’s hesitation, shook her head. John glanced quickly at his enemy. “Does Gisburne know?”
“Yes. Margaret said he knew as soon as he saw the wound.”
“Well, he was wrong!” spoke Will suddenly. “This is Gisburne we’re talking about. When’s ‘e ever been right?”
“He’s a soldier, “ replied Tuck quietly.
“So?”
“Will.”
“She ain’t going to die!” he stated firmly, daring his friends to contradict him. They all avoided his gaze, even Much. Will abandoned the fire with a snarl.
He paced around the camp restlessly. His eyes lighted on Gisburne again, though the knight didn’t see him. His back was turned. Will walked towards Gisburne, with every intention of confronting him. Then he heard Margaret’s voice and froze.
“I want to go home.”
“Home?” uttered Gisburne, as if the word was a foreign concept.
“Yes, where we were born.” Will saw the shoulders tense.
“But it’s miles away. You’d never survive...” The shoulders fell and neither sibling spoke for some time. Will was debating whether he should go when he heard Margaret’s voice again. It was more faint, more strained.
“Guy...hold my hand...please?”
“There. Can you feel it now?”
“Yes, I can feel it...Thank you.” Will shut his eyes and turned abruptly. Gisburne had been holding her hand the whole time.
* * * *
Robin chose a glade that would provide privacy, yet be close enough to the camp to reach his friends instantly if there was trouble. In fact, it was the same place where he and Marion had quarrelled and Margaret had overheard their conversation, though Robin had never learned that.
The Earl knew little about Sherwood and even less about its hidden corners. He stood stiffly, looking as uncomfortable as Robin had ever seen him, and Robin knew it wasn’t just the surroundings that made his father feel uneasy.
“What’s the matter?” asked Robin.
“I met a young woman at Nottingham Castle.” Robin smiled and raised an eyebrow. “No, it wasn’t like that, Robert! She was far too young. Besides, if the truth be known, her mother was once an acquaintance of mine.” Robin almost started in surprise.
“Is that why you came here? Because of this woman?”
“Yes, I believe she’s in danger. She disappeared. Gisburne seemed to think that she had left of her own accord, but then he disappeared as well.” The Earl’s dark eyes fell on his son anxiously. “Robert, there’s something I must you. The lady I speak of is Gisburne’s sister.”
“I see,” said Robin, guardedly. Now the Earl raised an eyebrow.
“You aren’t angry or shocked.”
“There’s little about Gisburne that shocks me anymore, Father.”
“Oh.” The Earl was bewildered. He had expected to receive more of a reaction from his son.
“What happened? Why did she leave?”
“The King was...” The Earl sought desperately for a means to explain the situation.
“He paid more attention to her than he should have?” questioned Robin. His father tried not to sound too grateful.
“Yes.”
“And so you felt it was your duty to speak to Gisburne.” It wasn’t a question. The Earl almost shuffled his feet like a guilty child.
“I couldn’t just stand by while that arrogant fool allowed the King to dishonour her! I told Gisburne that his behaviour was disgraceful and that he was incapable of looking after her.”
“Oh dear.”
“He was impossible, of course. He wouldn’t see reason. He told me it was none of my concern.”
“He said that to his enemy’s father? I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Robin, who couldn’t hide a smile.
“All right, Robert, there’s no need to be impudent.”
“Father, don’t you see what’s happened? It’s you and Owen of Clun all over again!”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You could do nothing when Clun tried to dishonour Marion.”
“She’s been with us for the last few days, Father. She tried to become an outlaw ...like Marion.”
“What?” The Earl stared at his son blankly. Then, his heavy brows knitted together and he took a step forward. Robin blocked him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like that,” said Robin contritely, but the Earl’s eyes still burned.
“No, I think you were quite happy to announce the news. So, is she the guest your friend referred to? No, it wasn’t ‘guest’ but ‘guests’.”
“Margaret’s here...and so is Gisburne,” admitted Robin. The Earl laughed sharply.
“Do you expect me to believe that he’s become an outlaw too?” Robin sighed.
“He didn’t come here willingly. He was brought here by the same men who were chasing Margaret when we found her.”
“Chasing Margaret? You mean to say that--”
“You were right. She was in danger.”
“But she’s not now? You’re protecting her?” Robin bowed his head, struck by a terrible realization.
“I can’t, Father.”
It was twilight. The setting sun cast Margaret in an ethereal light. Marion brushed some of the golden hair away from the pale, still face. Both hands were now resting on the blanket.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke.
“You did everything you could,” answered Gisburne, who didn’t understand that she was trying to express her condolences, not avoid accusations.
“Gisburne...” He lifted both hands and whipped off the blanket. Marion rose as Gisburne gathered Margaret in his arms. He began to cross the camp, but no one tried to stop him. Then the Earl of Huntington walked through the trees.
“Margaret!” he cried.
“Get away from her,” hissed Gisburne. “Take one more step and I’ll strike you where you stand.” The Earl stopped in his tracks, staring at the knight in confusion. Robin stepped in front of his father protectively, but Gisburne was already moving away. He only stopped when he reached Margaret’s horse.
“Gisburne.” John appeared beside him. He held out his arms as if they were filled with an invisible load. Guy glanced down at Margaret and handed her to the outlaw without argument. He swung up into the saddle and Tuck began to free the reins.
“Where are you going?” demanded Robin, once John had passed Margaret back to Gisburne.
“Home.” He urged the horse into a canter, but the outlaws were determined to follow him. They caught up with him in time to see which road he picked.
“But Nottingham’s the other way,” said Much.
“I don’t think that’s where he’s heading,” answered Tuck.
